


The Stellar Adjustment

by April in Paris (April_in_Paris)



Category: Shamy - Fandom, The Big Bang Theory (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Demisexuality, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-05-18 12:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_in_Paris/pseuds/April%20in%20Paris
Summary: "Make all the schedules you want, just don't tell me about them." On their honeymoon, Amy gave Sheldon permission to schedule their physically intimate interactions. And so Sheldon created a flawless algorithm that took every possible variable into account. Or did he? CANONPosted simultaneously on fanfiction.net.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For reference, the events in this story take place at some point mid-season twelve (i.e. before the finale).

The difference was in her kiss.

There, along the edges of warm pink and soft pulsing purple, was taste of . . . what, exactly? He couldn't describe it or even name it, but it was there. Something was definitely different.

Sheldon pulled back. "Amy?"

Confusion laced the word tight, and Amy responded first with that wrinkle between her brows. "Sheldon?"

A swallow. "Are you alright?"

The wrinkle deepened. "Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

"I -" He stopped. How could he tell her that his lips had just brushed by something that wasn't there? "I just wanted to make sure you enjoyed your day."

Date Day had been of Amy's devising. First, they visited the new show at the Central Library downtown of Ansel Adam's photographs from the CalTech Jet Propulsion laboratory taken during the dawn of World War II. Then they set out for an exhibit at the craft museum on sewing and needlepoint techniques used by the British struggling under ration control during the conflict. Sheldon had agreed to join her for a knitting demonstration, and, even though he ended up with such a mess he looked like a house cat with his ball of yarn, Amy had saved the day by helping him detangle instead of finishing her own potholder. Grateful for her intervention, he'd agreed to dinner at a British pub, feeling that if he was in for a penny of World War II themed events, he was in for a pound. And, then, back at home, Amy was so inspired she'd queued up one of her favorite shows, _Bletchley Circle_. Which is how they found themselves snuggled on the sofa, which is where Amy had started kissing him at the end of another episode.

"You know I did. It was wonderful. All that history! What a great idea to do all those things we wanted to do in one day. They went so well together." She grinned, ear to ear, and Sheldon realized he must have imagined something that didn't exist. Surely she was correct; nothing was amiss, they'd left nothing out of their theme date.

Sheldon nodded and leaned forward again, brushing his hand along her thigh. He closed his eyes and took a soft taste of her, all pink again, and then the deeper tones when her lips parted and he tasted her tongue all red and hot -

There. It was there again. And yet not. He pulled away.

"What's wrong?" Amy asked, the wrinkle having returned deeper than ever.

"I don't know," he confessed. Had he forgotten to do something at work? Was there an error in one of his recent equations? If it wasn't Amy, then it was one or the other. Or perhaps it was something that wasn't really his fault; maybe Leonard had forgotten to water the avocado pit this week. Regardless, he needed to focus on his wife. This was a Date Day, after all. And it wasn't as if he could fix any of those things with her tongue in his mouth. "Here, let's try again."

Another kiss and Amy started to press heavy against him. No, it wasn't here now. Just Amy and her body and her heat and all of her love. Amy. He focused on her and the strange feeling went away, just as he knew it would. Kissing Amy was enjoyable and easy and - Amy suddenly straddled his lap and he made a surprised sound as his hands made contact with her tight-covered hips, her skirt having bunched up around her waist in the maneuver.

"Did my knee hit you?" she asked with a little smile.

"No." The change of angle put Amy in control and her kisses pressed harder and faster. This was new. Usually they sat next to each other on the sofa when they made out. Sometimes, she'd hike a leg up or they'd end up in some other awkward position but never this. Not that he minded, now that he was experiencing it. It was actually more comfortable than their limbs akimbo and twisting his neck. And it wasn't entirely new; twice now they'd had coitus in this position.

What happened next may have been a result of that thought. The recognition caused him to hitch in some sort of surprise, and Amy took the break in the kiss as an opportunity to trail her lips along his jaw. That wasn't new to making out, though, so he relaxed slightly and -

"Oh!" His involuntary exclamation resulted from the feel of her mouth on his earlobe, her surprisingly dexterous tongue swirling and flicking.

Several thoughts bombarded Sheldon's brain almost simultaneously, just like electrons and positrons colliding in a particle accelerator. The straddling was one thing, actually a perfectly reasonable introduction of ergonomics to their tryst. But the ear lobe thing . . . He shifted beneath her as he became of aware of the physical effect it was starting to have on him. The ear thing was one of Amy's favorite methods of foreplay. She had discovered he liked it and that it could be quite helpful with . . . he shifted again . . . that. Not that he _needed_ any help, he mentally scoffed. But why was Amy doing it here? Now? They were making out as prescribed by Date Night. Making out on Date Night technically wasn't in the Marriage Agreement, a carry-through of their Relationship Agreement, not that it felt contractual anymore. Why was Amy trying to change making out? Why today? It didn't make any sense; she knew that making out and foreplay were two equally enjoyable and similar but very separate things that were highly unlikely to ever overlap, like the Avengers and the Justice League.

Her lips returned to his and he breathed a small sigh of relief into them. That had been an unexpected and confusing few seconds but now it was over and - Sheldon's eyes popped open as Amy's hand fumbled at the bottom of his tee shirt, brushing his stomach, tugging at his belt buckle.

"Wait. Amy, wait." He managed to reach down and still her fingers as he pulled away from her, just the little distance that he could.

For a second, they remained motionless, Sheldon leaning back at an angle with Amy trying to cover him. She stayed so close he could hear her breath and feel it puff against his face. This close she was a little fuzzy, but he watched her eyes widen and widen further still and then, with what seemed like excruciating slowness, fill with tears.

"Oh, Sheldon." She jerked off of him, sideways on the sofa, and squeezed her fingers under her glasses and against her closed eyes.

Why was Amy crying now? Sheldon had no concept of what had changed and how. Had he spoken too harshly when he stopped her from undoing his belt? He replayed his words; no, he didn't think so. Nevertheless, he whispered the next question, "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying." Indeed, no tear had fallen. But he saw them in her eyes, even as she blinked rapidly to try and prevent them from spilling over. "If I were - and I'm _not_ \- you'd think it was stupid anyway."

"Well, I usually do, but that doesn't mean I don't want to know."

Her only reply was an ugly cross between a snort and a sniff as she wiped her palm across her face, a sound Sheldon knew meant she was trying to gather and calm herself. He really didn't think he had upset her, but one thing he had learned as a husband was that an apology, no matter how unwarranted, was never misplaced with one's wife. "I apologize if I spoke too sharply when I asked you to unhand my pants. I was just confused about what was happening."

"I'm not angry with you." Amy shook her head. "You had every right to tell me to stop. I -" There was another of those strange breathless snorts and Sheldon reached to hand her a tissue, wishing she'd just allow herself to sob so that she'd stop making that noise. She took it with a sad grin. "I know I shouldn't touch you like that without your consent. I should be the one apologizing. I'm so sorry."

Sheldon reached over and rubbed her shoulder. "It surprised me, that's all. I had consented to make out with you, and that's what we were doing." But he frowned after he spoke. Somehow it felt like that wasn't the correct term for whatever had just happened. Nor did he feel it explained the extent of Amy's reaction. He waited for her to blow her nose and then asked, "Amy, what's wrong? I mean, other than my belt."

"Nothing. You have to believe me. Everything today has been so wonderful, even more than I could expect. I never thought you'd agree to the knitting demonstration. You have to believe me."

_You have to believe me._ Why was she already pleading for a thing he didn't even doubt yet? And _believe,_ she said. Why was she categorically denying a lie not told? He swallowed. Or was it a lie not yet detected? Although, it wasn't like Amy to lie. "Why wouldn't I believe you?"

She took a deep inhale. "I don't want you to think I'm not satisfied with the day. It was perfect. It's just . . . I thought it might be nice to end it by making love. And I guess I got carried away with - with the kissing and the belt and everything."

"Oh." So the ear thing _had_ been foreplay. Amy had been hoping for coitus this evening. Except, until she'd climbed onto his lap, and only because it was new for the sofa, the thought hadn't crossed his mind. Which wasn't surprising as today was not on his well-plotted coitus schedule.

Amy put her palm up. "I know, I know. I said you could make the schedule, so I'm not asking you, especially after what I just did. I just want you to know how much I love you, how perfect the day was, how perfect _you_ were, and . . ." She shrugged. "Believe me when I tell you I'm not asking for anything more. I'm not asking you to make love . . . I'm just . . ."

"Saying you want to," Sheldon finished for her.

She looked away and nodded.

"I do. Believe you, that is." She loved him so much, she'd had such a wonderful day with him, that the only remaining way she wanted to show him was the one way he . . . wasn't really interested in. Certainly the one he hadn't planned on. And she knew that. He understood her reticence to bring it up. And, as someone who had spent years being reticent to bring it up, he understood the overwhelming emotions that had resulted in her fighting back tears. Not that he'd ever been driven to them, of course, but he understood the need for the lightening of such a burden, the value of a pressure release valve. And Amy seemed unlikely to even consider six weeks on a train.

Sheldon made a decision. "I suppose I should have anticipated this would happen at some point. The day would come when my combination of good looks, knowledge of early jet propulsion systems, willingness to try handicrafts, and collection of facts about the Earl of Sandwich would become overwhelmingly irresistible." He looked down at his watch. "It's a little late, so we'd better get started."

"What?" Sheldon didn't understand why she looked confused.

"Coitus," he explained. "Biologically speaking, it's something I'm capable of. You've admitted to being randy, and, as your husband, I guess it's my duty."

Amy's mouth hung open a little. "Biologically speaking?"

"Yes. Just because I didn't have this scheduled for today, my genitals are fully functional. Your treating my earlobe like a melting ice cream cone will probably be sufficient." He stood up and looked down at her. "Chop, chop, before we lose what you already started."

"No, Sheldon." She shook her head and stood next to him, grabbing their empty tea mugs, and marching toward the kitchen. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"No?" Sheldon followed her. "But you said you were hoping to. I'm offering you exactly what you want."

Amy sighed softly when she reached the counter. "This is why I didn't want to say anything. I don't want pity sex, Sheldon. Or duty sex or whatever you want to call it. I know you're physically capable of doing it, but it's not the same. I only want sex if you do. I thought maybe if we made out, maybe you'd . . . get in the mood. I realize that was silly, I know that's not how your sexuality works. And - and it's selfish." She shrugged and turned around to open the dishwasher.

"Amy," Sheldon touched her shoulder blade, "I don't want you to feel that you can't say anything. You promised on our honeymoon that you would inform me if the schedule became inadequate for your needs."

The mugs clinked together as she put them in the dishwasher. "It's not that. Really, it's not. Actually, the apparent timing and interval of the schedule has been perfectly adequate. I'm honestly thrilled that we make love as often as we do. I thought - I thought . . ." She shook her head. "I thought it would be quarterly or even semi-annual or something." She smiled up at him as she shut the door, but it was thin and didn't reach her eyes. "So, see, I have nothing to complain about. I'm a sexually satisfied woman."

"But not tonight?" Sheldon prodded. "Your actions and words don't seem to correlate."

"You know what, forget I said anything. I'm sorry I reached for your belt buckle and mounted you on the sofa. That was mistake. I'll wait for the next time you've got it scheduled. Everything's fine."

But fine stood between them. Sheldon gulped and considered whether it was better to follow his wife's verbal instructions or whether it was better to follow his wife's clear physical wishes.

"I don't like this," he admitted. "I feel . . . conflicted. Confused. You say you're sexually satisfied with a schedule of my devising and yet you want to make love outside of its parameters. Will you try to explain it to me?"

"I said forget it. It's fine."

"Amy." He reached out to touch her again and tried to soften his voice. "I want to try to understand. If you thought it was important enough to act upon, then it's too important to forget."

Her lips twisted as she seemed to weigh his words. "Okay. I don't think those two things are contradictory - being overall satisfied but occasionally wanting more. I always love it when you initiate being intimate, you know that. I've never turned you down."

"But you know that you can?" Sheldon asked, a tiny bit of panic rising in his throat.

"Of course." She reached out and brushed her hand against his arm. "Let's see if this makes any sense: imagine you are an amateur astronomer -"

"If I were going to me an astronomer, I'd be a professional," he interrupted.

Amy sighed. "You asked me to try and explain it to you, remember? Work with me." She waited for him to nod and then she continued, "Astronomy is just a casual hobby for you, and you have one of those cheap telescopes. Occasionally, you're moved to use it, but it's not a huge draw for you. But you like the moon, so you usually use it when the moon is at its fullest, to get the best view." She paused and he leaned back against the counter top, crossing his arms as he listened. "But your wife _loves_ the moon, and so she is excited to look at the moon with you. It's a thing you do on a schedule because moon is full, and it's nice." She shook her head. "No, it's better than nice. It's great, because you're doing it together. Are you with me?"

"Got it. Moon equals coitus."

"Right. But sometimes your wife wants to see the stars, too. And the full moon is so bright it can blot those out."

He put his hand up. "Wait. If the moon is coitus, what are the stars?"

"Sheldon," she reached up to rub her nose under her glasses, "they're both coitus."

"Then why does the wife want the stars instead of the moon?"

"She wants both!" It came out sharp. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry. It's not a good metaphor, I know, but I was trying to come up with something on the fly. What I'm saying is, the timing is off sometimes. The husband is only interested in the moon - and the wife loves that, she'd not unhappy with the moon _at all_ \- but sometimes . . . she wants some stars in between."

"An occasional unanticipated variable in synchronicity," Sheldon murmured.

"Yes, exactly. I am satisfied with the schedule, Sheldon. It's just that . . . I think about it other times, too."

"Alright." Sheldon chewed on his lower lip, considering what she said. It made sense to him in an abstract sense, if he didn't think too deeply about what a hackneyed metaphor she had used to try and explain it. To him, viewing the heavens and loving the one he was viewing them with were combined into one emotion. For him, any physical desire he had discovered always started with how mentally close he wanted to be to Amy, but then he knew that his sexual drive was . . . unique. "To continue your metaphor . . . Why don't you get the telescope out yourself then? I'll go draw a bath and even light some candles for you." He stood up straighter to walk to the bathroom. "Wait, are you saying you're out of that special bath oil? I'll order you more." He pivoted toward his laptop resting on the dining table.

Amy's hand reached out and stopped him and she shook her head. "I can get the telescope out, as it were. I - I -" She blushed slightly. "I still use the bath oil, Sheldon, although not as much. Yes, sometimes I just want the telescope for, um, purely physical reasons, but other times it's because I love you and I want to be that close to you. I can pretend it's your . . . telescope but not your heart. I guess it's not always about the telescope. It's about standing at the window together, sharing something just between the two of us, feeling that sense of awe, whispering about it."

Something about that hit him hard, and he sucked in his breath. Astronomy he understood perfectly. Astronomy was easy. He could do Raj's job with his eyes closed without the need for telescopes, phallic or otherwise. But the intangible, the time spent together, in awe, trying to grasp the sublime minutiae and meaning of the heavens . . . that was physics. That was love. That was Amy.

"Amy, when we're intimate, it's always like that to me."

"Me, too. And that's why sometimes being alone in the bathtub isn't enough."

He reached out and pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "I love you and I want to make you happy."

"I know."

"If you want to make love right now, I'll do it for you, Amy," he whispered into her hair.

"I know you would." Amy pushed back softly and looked up at him. "But it wouldn't be the same. Which doesn't mean you don't love me, I know that, too. I know it's probably the greatest act of love you could do, because it would be entirely for me. But it would be different somehow."

"You're probably correct," he agreed. He licked his lips. "I fail to understand, though, how scheduled coitus, even though you don't know the schedule, doesn't suffer from this same problem."

"Because you're looking forward to it, I think." She reached for his hand on her shoulder. "You've always been so open with me, sharing your struggles with your sexuality, and I think I've learned enough to say you've found something about physical intimacy that you _do_ enjoy and you do look forward to, but I also know you just can't turn on your desire. I've always assumed that your schedule includes a warm-up period. Maybe the schedule is even more of a window of time than a single hour."

Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, Sheldon thought about the _Amok Time_ theme song that went off. About the hours of building anticipation that followed. It sounded cold when Amy described it, as though it was chore he had to mentally condition himself to undertake. "You knew?" he whispered, embarrassed.

His wife stretched up to kiss his cheek. "I like it. There's a spark in the air."

"I like it, too," he admitted. Sexual desire so rarely crossed his mind now that Amy had taught him that love was more important than coitus, that to have a prescribed time to concentrate on sexual intimacy, the ability he'd discovered to bring it to the fore, to experience it in even a small amount felt like both a release and a triumph rolled into one. And then he got to share that with her.

"What can I do? To help you see the stars?" he asked.

"Tonight? Nothing. Honestly. The mood has passed."

"Do you want to cuddle and watch another episode?"

"There's nothing I'd like more."

They sat on the sofa and when Amy leaned against his shoulder, he adjusted to wrap his arm around her, to hold her close. The rest of the episode passed like that, neither of them moving or speaking, and Sheldon wondered if neither of them were watching, too.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

_**Astute readers may have noticed a similar tone and a few familiar details from my story** _ **The Sexuality Quandary.** _**And you'd be absolutely correct. This story was written to take place in that same "world," but I feel that world is the most faithful to canon of all my stories and thus nothing I write in that vain can be considered a sequel. In addition, it's entirely possible to understand this story without having read** _ **The Sexuality Quandary;** _**however, if you enjoy this story, please check out that earlier work.** _

_**And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews.** _


	2. Chapter 2

He tried to tell her with his kiss.

The kiss was the result of a previous experiment, but it was not the perfect result for which he hoped. It turned out science could be a cruel mistress after all. Announcing it in the morning had made it too obvious there was a schedule, Amy said. In fact, announcing it at all seemed to lessen the mood somehow. Sheldon found the words "We will be having coitus tonight" self-explanatory and lacking any room for subjective interpretation and those were always the best words for any situation. Except telling your wife that your genitals were going to visit her genitals after dinner, it seemed.

Friday nights were especially fraught, because he didn't want to say or do anything across the hall to give away that he and his wife would be ravishing each other before long. Kissing her after he'd shut their own apartment door behind them appeared to be the clearest and most expedient option. He would deepen the action, slip his tongue between her lips, hold her closer, and wait for her breathing to shallow. If they weren't already in bed - and Sheldon found it was better when they weren't already in bed, so that there was time for all the frills they both seemed to like - he might whisper, "Shall we adjourn?" It was lacking in clarity about where and for what, exactly, they were adjourning, but Amy seemed to prefer the unnecessary formality of it.

But tonight she pushed him away when his tongue brushed her lips. "Didn't you think Howard's joke about _The Mortal Engines_ was so clever?"

"Uh," Sheldon's brain struggled with the shift in tasks. "I rarely find Howard overly clever."

"Well, I do. He seemed especially funny this evening."

"I suppose." He didn't, really, but he didn't want to argue, not on Scheduled Coitus Night. Which he never, ever, called it to Amy. He leaned in close again and her lips were there and he pressed -

Until Amy pulled back with a yawn. "Sorry. I've had a very long day: first work and then dinner across the hall. I'm going to go put on my nightgown and read in bed." She squeezed his hand, stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and walked out of the room.

Sheldon watched her go. Was that some heavily veiled invitation to follow? He wasn't sure, but the yawn had lent an air of authenticity to her claim of fatigue. She had told him, not two months ago, that she felt the spark in the air when coitus was pending. True, she had not clarified if that was every single time; he supposed it was still possible to surprise her. Actually, he hoped it was.

But Sheldon felt a little less sure of his coitus schedule since That Evening. For so long, it had been a freedom to him - a freedom to not think about sex until he did for Amy, with Amy, and the timing was perfect. But That Evening made him wonder if the timing wasn't as perfect as he'd previously thought. Not that anything else had happened to make him concerned. By the next morning, it seemed that all had been forgotten by his wife. Life resumed its normal habits.

Even two weeks later, when coitus had come up on his schedule again, it had been . . . routine. That was a relief, actually, missionary position and all of it. If either one of them had tried one of their fancier frills, he might have wondered if it was overcompensation. It was gratifying that it felt so mundane. The moon had come out and he and Amy had basked in it together. Just a regular full moon, not a super moon or a blue moon or all those new types of moons that were all the rage now.

Amy said she loved the schedule. Tonight, coitus was on the schedule. He locked the door and turned off the light and followed her. Already under the covers with a book on her lap, she looked up when he entered, her eyebrows slightly higher than usual.

"No TV?"

"I thought I'd join you."

She smiled so warmly he knew had made the correct choice. "Good. I love it when we read together."

"Uh . . . actually . . ." Should he go kiss her to clarify things? Instead, he settled for just standing alongside her edge of the bed. "I know you don't like it when I explicitly point this out, but, well, coitus is on the schedule for tonight."

"I see." Amy paused. "Thank you, but I'm not really in the mood right now."

"What?"

"I'm not in the mood. I told you; I've had a long day, I'm actually very tired, so much so I was thinking I might just finish this chapter and go to sleep early."

"But it's on the schedule. You said you love the schedule."

Amy sighed and slid her bookmark in place. "Guess I won't even get that done." Then, louder, looking back up at him, "I said I was pleasantly surprised and satisfied with the frequency of the schedule, not that I would love every single date that might ever occur on the schedule. I'm sorry, Sheldon, but I'm just not in the mood tonight. I had meetings all day and I just want some silence and some time to not really think about what someone else wants. Rain check?"

"Rain check? I would ask if you had any idea what I've been thinking about all day, but you already know, didn't you?"

"Well . . . thank you, anyway?" It sounded like a question.

"But you know this doesn't come easily to me," Sheldon said. "You know I'm not a faucet, I can't just turn it on and off." Realizing he was simultaneously begging and hating himself for it, he seemed unable to stop the next sentence from coming out of his mouth, "You don't even have to move; I can do all the work." Then the most regrettable thing he could have said: "Please."

"Oh, so I guess I'm just supposed to lie back and think of England because this is what _you_ want?" The tone of Amy's voice contracted, her words now coming sharp and terse.

"Why would you think about England? If you don't want to think about our bedroom, wouldn't it at least be somewhere like Stockholm? Or, I know!, the Quantum realm, like Ant-Man."

Thud! Amy's book slammed shut. "I said I wasn't in the mood for sex and I thought that you, _of all people_ , would understand and respect that!"

Thud! Sheldon's lungs collapsed as he slumped onto the end of the bed, only missing Amy's feet because she had her knees pulled up. He lowered his head into his palms. What had he done? He's ruined everything, that's what he'd done. The coitus schedule, the man he ought to be, perhaps his marriage. Shame swept over him as he remembered that day when he lit all those candles and danced the flamenco in a misguided attempt to bed Amy. He swore he'd never do anything so disrespectful again. And, yet, here he was.

True, the largest error at that time had been his insincerity; he wanted to have coitus with Amy to procreate for science, not because he loved her. And there was no doubt he wanted to have coitus with Amy today out of love. He'd been imagining it for hours: the soft rustling of her clothes, the goosebumps on her bare skin, the smell of her arousal, the taste of her skin, the look on her face when she orgasmed. As it always happened, he wasn't thinking about it at all and then the alarm when off on his phone and his mind turned over his memories, about Amy, always Amy, and then, naturally, gradually, his mind became ready for her, to give her this. To want, with a desperation akin to thirst, to give this to her.

But today, even without the slapping and the silly outfit, his words had pulsed and stepped and pivoted and rocked their way to an awful rhythm. This is what allowing sexuality into his life had done to him. He should have known. He'd been correct all along. Coitus had changed him, made him a Neanderthal, a slave to his baser physical desires.

"Sheldon?" The bed trembled beneath him as Amy shuffled close. He jerked when her hand touched his arm, and he raised his head. "Sheldon, are you okay?"

"I don't want pity sex." He winced, realizing he was repeating her words back to him. That Evening, he hadn't understood, not fully. Amy wanted something and he would have given to her. But it wouldn't have the same. It would have been a mere physical transaction. It would have been insincere.

"Good, cause I wasn't offering it."

So he'd only made it worse. "I've sorry," he whispered. "I meant I don't deserve your pity, sexual or otherwise." He pressed his hands against the mattress. "I'll go sleep at Leonard's."

Amy pushed down on his shoulders and he finally turned to look at her. "Don't be so melodramatic. You don't need to go anywhere. Perhaps I spoke too harshly -

"You didn't."

"I'm not really angry. I might have been if you had kept it up, but . . ." She shrugged away the end of the sentence. "Maybe this was bound to happen sometime." Another repeated phrase. Another role reversal. "I suppose it's only a mathematical construct that at some point a random schedule would pick a day I wouldn't . . . like."

Sheldon stood, successful this time because he did it with so much force. "I need to get out my whiteboards, I need to start over, I need to find a different paradigm, I need to find the flaw . . ." His voice trailed off, his mind drumming as he returned to the living room and wiped off the white board hanging there with fast, angry swipes.

"Wait!" Amy came after him, in her bare feet and nightgown. "What are you doing?"

"I told you. Finding the flaw in my equation." He glanced over at her. "Go back to bed, go back to read or sleep or whatever. You said you were tired, you said you didn't want to worry about anyone else tonight. I won't bother you again."

"Oh, good heavens!" Amy's arms shot upward, a sure sign she was frustrated with him. "Giving into your sexual desires is completely different than worrying about your emotional state."

"There's nothing wrong with my emotional state," Sheldon grumbled. "It's the algorithm. It's clearly flawed."

Amy reached over and stilled his hand, grasping the marker. "It's not flawed, Sheldon. You don't believe that either. It's just that my emotions are not ruled by the algorithm. No one's are."

"But - but it works for me. I just need to change the variables to account for you. There must be more factors at play than I originally thought."

"Don't be ridiculous." But it wasn't said harshly. In fact, her hand relaxed over his, now longer squeezing the marker into his palm. "Maybe you've found a way for your acceptance of the physical aspects of sexual intimacy to conform to the schedule you've designed - and that's fine - but I know that emotionally you love me every day and you would, if you could, be intimate with me."

He dropped his hand, letting her take the marker, letting her win their silent battle for it. "Yes, I would."

"So it's not the math."

"No, it's not. The math is perfect; I should know, I built the algorithm." Sheldon swallowed. "Amy, if it's not the algorithm that's flawed, then _I'm_ the flaw, aren't I? I'm a monster and I've ruined everything."

Her hand reached out to touch his arm. "You're not a monster, Sheldon. All you've ruined is my quiet reading time. It's just a - What did you call it? An unanticipated variable in synchronicity, that's all. Sometimes one of us is going to be the mood and the other one isn't. That's how it works. It's perfectly normal. There's no need to get upset about it. We just need to acknowledge it and move on calmly."

That was why she had obviously worked so hard to keep herself calm that evening. Sheldon saw her struggle, her emotional need to cry, but she had fought it and kept trying to dismiss it. But, perhaps, she'd felt the same as he did right now. Not just that the there had been synchronicity blip - or maybe not that at all - but that she had acted in a way that felt inappropriate to her.

"I've acted inappropriately," he said. "I'm so sorry, Amy."

"Well, then, I accept your apology if it makes you feel better. Not that you needed one. You didn't act inappropriately."

"Yes, I did!" he blurted out, the last flare of fight he had left in him. "I begged you, Amy. I swore I'd never try to coarse you again."

"Okay, yes, I wish you wouldn't have dropped the matter sooner. But we were only talking; you were only expressing yourself. I don't ever want us to stop talking about the important things."

Sheldon watched Amy cap the marker and put it into the tray at the bottom of the board. Her movements were so placid, so simple. "How can you be so calm about this?"

His wife took a deep breath. "Sheldon, I've lived with your struggle for years. Not as long as you, of course, but I've seen how much it affects you. I know that it hurts. It - it hurts me, sometimes, too." Her voice faltered a little. "I know it's not over, Sheldon. It didn't end on our honeymoon."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. "I thought - I thought I'd solved it. The schedule, it's -"

"It's a good thing," Amy finished for him. "I'm glad you devised it, I truly am. It's made you happier, it's made it easier for you. I already told you how much happier it's made me, how it's exceeded my exceptions."

"But this is the second time it's failed us."

Amy shrugged. "It's not a failure if we keep trying." She reached up and laid her hand against his cheek. "When I see how much you try, I can be calm because I know you're doing it for me, too. Your continued effort is what means so much to me."

"Even though it's not enough to give you the stars?"

She caressed his cheek with her thumb. "Well, Hans Lippershey's first telescope wasn't useful for viewing the heavens, either. It needed work."

"Amy, we've been over this. There's nothing wrong with my telescope."

She chuckled and it was everything Sheldon had been waiting for. "Come on, grab a book and join me."

But he leaned over to kiss her cheek instead. "No, you go ahead. You said you wanted to sleep. I'll be in later."

"Are you sure? This -" she made a swirling motion with her hand "- it's all okay, you know that, right? We'll just put it behind us and not worry about it any more."

"Alright," he agreed and kissed her again before he watched her retreat back to the bedroom. He stayed up late that night, watching TV with the volume turned down low, until long after he knew Amy was sound asleep and unlikely to stir when he curled up next to her, still worrying about this thing he couldn't find a way to put behind him.

_To be continued . . ._

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_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _

_**Just a reminder that I am on Instagram [handle: aprilinparisfanfic] for story teasers, visuals related to my works, and general Shamy and bookish geekiness. Follow along if you're so inclined.** _


	3. Chapter 3

The dream was gone but something about it lingered. A sense of fear, of a narrow escape of some sort, and the relief of finding somewhere safe to hide. Sheldon took a deep breath and snuggled in closer to Amy. Had she been his savior? He opened his eyes to find her, not asleep as he expected on any given Saturday morning, but instead watching him, her green eyes soft but curious.

"Are you alright now?" she asked softly.

So it had been her pulling him from the depths. "Yes. Thank you. I'm sorry I woke you." He glanced around at the very faint dawn seeping between the curtains. "And so early."

Amy smiled at him and reached forward to kiss him. "It doesn't matter. There's no need to talk about it."

Sheldon had some undefinable sense that it did matter, that there was something to be said, but he kissed her back with equal gentle grace. It must have been the residual from his dream but she felt warmer somehow this morning. He reached up to brush her unruly hair out of her face before he kissed her again, several tiny kisses tracing the outlines of her lips.

When Amy wrapped her arms around him, the warmth seeped in even further. It was easy to be comforted by her, to find peace in her embrace. There was the flannel of their pajamas and the crisper feel of the cotton sheets and the scent at the base of her throat and the grasp of her hand upon his buttocks and . .

Amy stopped suddenly, her breath coming faster, and, judging by the way he reached up to wipe his lips, his was, too. The last few moments had been a gauzy fog of kissing and pressing and touching, one movement melting so seamlessly into another that Sheldon was at a loss to explain exactly what had happened.

He looked down at her - for now, he was half-way on top of her - curious, trying to read her expression, which seemed to be the fighting of various thoughts. Something settled on her face, and she took his hand in hers. Sheldon watched, as best as he could with the quilt over them, how she guided his palm down her body and then under the hem of her bunched nightgown until it rested on her hip, half touching her panties and half touching her skin.

She took a deep, slow breath as she watched him. There seemed to be a question on her face. "Am-"

"Shhh," she interrupted, but even her shushing tone was very quiet. "There's no need to talk."

Uncertain if he was reading her correctly, he took his hand off her hip and moved her hand to the front of his pajama pants. His morning erection had grown with their kisses, but he felt like it stretched further when her hand made contact and he squeezed his eyes shut from the sensation. He hoped it was the correct answer.

Amy suddenly grinned up at him as she gave his manhood a squeeze, and he captured her lips again. It wasn't easy and their hands keep bumping into each other's below the waist, struggling to remove only the most essential clothing, but he refused to give up his hold on her mouth. At last, though, his pajama and underpants were low enough he felt free, and, when he brushed his knuckles between Amy's legs, he felt only the dampness of her folds and her full body shiver. Oh, yes, he remembered, the girls had gone to the spa on Thursday afternoon.

But he had to let go of her lips to shift to adjust over her and Amy used it as an excuse to kick something, probably her underwear, and then he was over her, wedged tightly between her thighs. Even like this, Amy was cozy. Had it been enough foreplay? He was puzzling over a way to ask this without words when Amy took him and guided him into place, which could not have been more clear.

It was a relief to sink into her, and he felt both of them expelling every worry they had with their breath. Amy, just as he remembered, hot and welcoming, smooth and snug. It felt so good, he was in no hurry to change it, and he let himself relax there, only holding enough of his weight so as to avoid crushing his wife.

Amy flexed her legs next to him, straightening and wrapping just her ankles around his knees, so that the soles of her feet rested against his calves. That was nice, too, he thought as he kissed her, having so much of her in contact with him.

Her hands pressed near the bottom of his buttocks, and, after a few presses, Sheldon got the impression she wanted him to move up. Intrigued, he complied, the usual smooth slide over her body impeded by the friction of their flannel nightclothes. At first, he didn't like it, because it meant their lips were no longer aligned and he'd lost some of the depth he enjoyed within her, but then he felt her heat pressing against the base of himself and Amy gave a slight squeak of pleasure beneath him. Oh.

Her pelvis shifted beneath him and seemed to be trying to push up, which Sheldon didn't understand in the least, but he didn't want to hurt her so he let go of any tension and didn't resist her movements. Oh. Oh. That felt really good. How had he never noticed that the dorsal side of his penis could tingle, too?

Amy relaxed beneath him, and he lowered himself to touching her in the same position they had started in. Was that right? She pushed upwards again and they seesawed once more.

It was strange this way. Sheldon had to resist the urge to thrust, although it was made easier by the strong tingling of his member and the little, soft sounds Amy way making. It took concentration not to move too much and slip out of her; once, he paused to try press in just a little deeper, pulling himself a just little higher with his fingertips to maintain contact, and Amy made a pleasant if tiny moan, so he knew it was acceptable. There was a rhythm to it, but one he had to concentrate on. He probably couldn't have properly kissed her even if her lips where in line with his. Instead, he rested his face against the side of her head and let his other hand toy with her hair.

It was easy to let Amy set the pace in the pale half-light. Amy up, Sheldon down. Pressure, counter pressure. Giving and taking. It wasn't linear like counting, but it was syncopated like a sequence of small equations. Inside his head, he let it drum: _one plus one, pause, two plus two, repeat._ Upbeat, downbeat. He closed his eyes and smelled her hair and felt her exhales against his neck punctuating the tempo. Seeking, reaching, finding, again and again. There were no words, no other sounds, no variables. Once they found the cadence, they were in perfect unison.

Getting lost in the cycle of pleasure felt even more effortless than usual and he could have gladly played out the rest of his life that way until he felt the familiar tightening deep in his abdomen. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push it away. No, he wanted to stay like this, in perfect harmony with Amy, only a small fraction of a distance separating them, and then only with the smallest fraction of time until they sought each other again. And what about Amy? Never once had he denied her her own pleasure -

It was barely a sound at all but his eyes popped open nonetheless and Sheldon lowered his chin to look at her. No, there was no mistaking the increased speed of her breath. Powerless, Amy didn't rise, and unsure what to do, he allowed himself a thrust just as her mouth opened. Usually Amy's pulsing was accompanied by nothing less than a long cry of pleasure followed, if he was lucky, by several sharper, shorter yells. This morning, instead, there was a hushed, low sound, something soft but jubilant, like the sound of a bell in the far, far distance. One more thrust, and he moaned deeply into her hair, a sound not nearly so pure or peaceful.

Spent, he angled himself off of Amy so he could relax, wincing slightly at leaving her. But Sheldon kept one arm over her chest and one leg over her waist, letting his nose press into the top of her ear.

He did not want to break the delicate silence, the silken web they had seemed to spin around themselves, but he could not let such an important thing go unasked. "Was your orgasm sufficient?" he whispered into the swirls of her ear.

"Yes," Amy whispered back. "It was different but . . . more than sufficient."

Sheldon ran his fingertips through the hair at the top of her head, his arm having landed above her in his collapse. How strange it had been, so early in the morning. Only now was the sun filling the room. It had been so silent, so timid, such small movements. They had not thrown the covers off in any sort of passion. In fact, they were still mostly dressed, a discomfort that could not escape his notice as the waistband of his underpants dug into his thighs from how they were stretched out in this position. Amy's nightgown was gathered just under her breasts, his elbow resting upon the pile of fabric there.

"I love you," he whispered, for once contemplating forgoing the post-coital bathroom-and-shower ritual to fall asleep this way with her.

"I love you, too." Amy sighed and then added, "Give me a minute to pee and then we'll shower." She patted his arm, a sign she wanted him to move.

"I never thought I'd be so unhappy to hear you say something so logical," he grumbled, lifting his weight off of her.

"Well," Amy slid out from under him, "you can sleep in if you want." She kissed his cheek and left the bed.

Listening to her in the bathroom, Sheldon rolled over and looked up at the ceiling, knowing he'd never fall back to sleep without her beside him. And only then did it occur to him what day it was and what had transpired the evening before.

* * *

"Maybe you should have stayed in bed, Sheldon. You're awfully sleepy," Amy said, rubbing her wet hair between ends of a towel.

"I am?" he asked as he tied his robe tight around him.

"Yeah. You barely said five words in the shower." She glanced over at him as she hung her towel up. "It's okay. You can go back to bed."

Sheldon slipped his feet into his slippers. If he'd only said five words in the shower, then Amy's comments to him just now constituted a novel compared to what she said. The shower had been nice, their actions guided by practice. But almost silent. "You were quiet, too," he said.

"Was I?" Amy stepped into the bedroom, the blankets still rumbled from their sleep and their lovemaking. They would change them together after breakfast. "I just must be a little tired, too, getting up early like this on a weekend."

"You know it actually does more harm than good to one's circadian rhythms to sleep in on the weekends." He trailed after her.

"And yet a break in routine feels so good sometimes."

His eyes snapped up, but Amy was still walking in front of him. One routine that wasn't broken was the assembling of their breakfasts: the heating of the kettle, the toasting of the bread, the pouring of the cereal, and, for Amy, the slicing of a banana. His wife seemed absorbed in her tasks, so Sheldon let himself fret. About routines and how they came so easily, unconsciously, how simple it was to fall into them without trying. Did one really plan on dunking the tea bag, for example, or did it happen from habit alone?

Even the order one ate was routine, he thought as he crunched on the first bite of cereal, sitting across the table from his wife. Next Amy would put down her toast and take a sip of tea. And then she did. When did a routine become just another unspoken schedule? What if, he swallowed, it became a meaningless schedule?

But, instead of lowering her mug and taking up her spoon as he expected, Amy held it close to her mouth and studied him over it.

"What?" he asked, fully aware he'd been caught staring at her and she would be within reason to ask him the same.

"Did you enjoy it? This morning?"

A reprieve, maybe. "Very much so. Did you?"

She nodded but then bit her lip. "It's why I probably shouldn't say this, I shouldn't ruin a perfectly good thing, but . . . I'm sorry if it felt like it was about last night. I know we didn't really argue and I thought we settled it then but . . ." She lowered her mug. "I just don't want our intimacy to ever be making up for something."

His mouth went dry. "Was it - were you trying to make up for something?" he asked, reaching for his mug of tea, hoping to parch his thirst.

Amy shook her head. "No. I didn't even realize it until we were in the shower, and you were so quiet. It occurred to me that maybe that's what you thought."

"It didn't cross my mind. Until after, when you went to the bathroom. But during . . . no. It wasn't about our discussion. It didn't feel like an appeasement to me. Or, well, anything else except . . . it just felt right."

Amy's face brightened. "You mean it had nothing to do with the schedule?"

Sheldon winced. He hadn't wanted to bring it up, because this morning had been such a thin shell of a thing, whatever they'd surrounded themselves with in bed. Something fragile and beautiful. But now he realized it was not the words that ended it; it had already melted away from them in the shower. "Amy, I - I honestly didn't think about that, either, not during. But - but I don't know. It might have subconsciously been there. It's technically still the window. It might have been . . . related."

Never had he wished he'd mastered the art of lying more than he did in that moment. Or at least the ability to stop talking and leave half-truths alone. The first sentence would have been sufficient. But the first sentence would have also been incomplete.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, ashamed of his own honesty. He looked down at his breakfast and pushed the cereal bowl away. His stomach was in knots about his sexuality, such as it hadn't been for months, and his appetite was gone.

"It's okay, Sheldon. I was in the mood this morning. And it was good."

"What if it's not okay?" He looked up at her. "Even subconsciously, was it a habit? I don't want our intimacy to be on the same order as drowning a teabag in hot water."

Her hand snaked across the little table and touched his, Amy's fingers barely reaching to graze the back of him hand. Or perhaps it was on purpose, a tentative touch. "I can only speak for myself, but it didn't feel like a habit. It was new. I felt like we'd mastered something. We were so in unison, so in sync, even without speaking. It felt . . . special."

Sheldon gave a single nod. "It did," he whispered in agreement. "I'd like to do it that way again . . . sometime."

Her smile was just as warm and as comforting as her body had been in bed. "See? There's nothing to worry about. If neither one of us even thought about the - the other reasons, I guess, that we might have done it, then it was only a good thing, right? Because, in the moment, what we were doing it felt like . . ." She signed dreamily. "You know what I mean."

"The stars?" he whispered.

"Maybe. Yes." For some reason, that didn't seem to make her sad; instead, her smiled stretched again. "Thank you for that, Sheldon."

"But what if it really wasn't -"

"Shhhh. Don't overthink this." She tapped the back of his hand.

"But it's what I do," he grumbled.

"I know. But not this time. It was beautiful and loving and we both enjoyed it. We felt the same, in the moment. Allow that to be enough, Sheldon. It is for me."

She was so pleased it wasn't difficult to give her something like a smile back and take a bite of his toast, chewing and forcing it down his throat. He would allow Amy this, even though he felt dishonest. And confused that Amy would allow such dishonesty from him. Had it meant that much to her to kiss him first, to be the one to first telegraph to him that she craved sexual intimacy in that moment? Apparently it had. He could not deny that during the act, her desires had satisfied them both. He had followed her lead and found her rhythm and it had been easy. It had been freeing.

How was it possible for him to find such beautiful synchronicity with his wife, silently, without forethought or fear, without concerns about any various layers of meaning, in the half-light of dawn and yet remain unable to find synchronicity even with the aid of mathematics and nothing less than a crushing desire to please her in the light of day?

_To be continued . . ._

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_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!** _


	4. Chapter 4

"Ha! Ha! Got him again! You suck at this, Sheldon!" Raj's cheer came through especially loud in stereo, and Sheldon pulled off his headset to at least limit that part of his friend's taunt.

"I don't suck at this," he protested, looking across the coffee table to Raj, in the flesh, at his own laptop. "I'm just distracted."

"Cool, whatever, more wins for us," Howard said, his fingers clicking furiously on the keys.

"I see you. You're dead!" Leonard cried.

Sheldon looked around the room at the three of them, each one oblivious to his struggles. The only concerns they had was who would win the most rounds of Fortnight. Penny said it was the nerdiest thing they did, assembling together to play a game they could have easily played separately in their own homes, which Sheldon thought was unfair. It couldn't possibly be the nerdiest thing they'd done as they weren't wearing costumes. Besides, they'd argued to their respective females, it was a form of bonding. And it gave the ladies an excuse to go shopping or whatever it was they were doing.

He watched his friends in the living room of 4A and their avatars on the screen, now locked in a three-way battle. It wouldn't be long now, and, sure enough, Howard's character was the first to go.

"Hey! I thought we were best friends!" he called out.

"Not in this world, sucker!" Raj called back. But it was the distraction Leonard had been waiting for and Raj's avatar immediately perished from a well-timed blow.

Laughing, Leonard pulled off his headset. "That was a good one." He got up and put a hash mark under his name on the whiteboard. "Look at this, Sheldon hasn't won a single round."

"Isn't that killing you, Sheldon?" Howard asked.

"Well, yes, that's how you lose in Fortnight, someone kills you."

Leonard rolled his eyes as he sat back down. "He meant figuratively, emotionally."

Sheldon shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Hey, what's up?" Leonard leaned closer.

Sheldon shook his head. He would not violate the zones of privacy he shared with Amy. How he wished Dr. Fink was present so that he could slip in through a loophole! "It's not for public dissection and commentary."

"Trouble in paradise?" Raj asked.

"Maybe. But I'm not at liberty to discuss it based upon an agreement I made with my wife." He pressed his lips together. Was even mentioning Amy a violation of their zones of privacy?

"So it's about sex," Howard said.

"Now, what makes you think that?"

"Because you talk about your bowl movements and Amy's menstrual cycle all the time. That just leaves sex," Leonard pointed out.

Tilting his head, Sheldon thought about the semantics of the situation. If his friends guessed the subject matter in question, if they were the first ones to mention the very word, then it wasn't as though he had violated the zone of privacy, correct? And maybe he did need an outside opinion on the matter, having gotten nowhere despite a day's worth of thought. Maybe even that overthought Amy warned him against. He cleared his throat. "Alright, but this goes no further than this room."

But Howard replied with, "That's a shame because the _National Enquirer_ is beating down my door for the sordid details."

Leonard must have seen Sheldon's alarmed face, because he said, "He's only joking. Believe me, no one wants to know this. Even me. But I started it, so go on."

Taking a deep breath, Sheldon tried not to wring his hands. How could he explain his confusion to his friends? Amy had said that their lovemaking was beautiful and good and that should be enough. And he wanted it to be enough, he didn't want to overthink it and all its shades of timing and meaning. But he also wanted to understand it better, so that perhaps, in the future, he could find a way to truly give Amy the experience she desired.

"Amy and I may or may not have had unplanned coitus this morning and it was especially pleasant and I'm upset about it."

"Ummmm, you're going to have to explain that some more," Raj said. "But no details."

"It's come to my attention that Amy craves sexual intimacy outside of the schedule. She tries to pretend it doesn't bother her, but I think it does. And, that, in turn, bothers me."

"Sounds like the Tin Man found a heart after all!" Howard quipped.

"Sheldon," Leonard said, "I think that's perfectly normal. You can't regulate your bodily functions and needs down to the minute."

"Yes, you can. I've had the same bathroom schedule since I was potty trained, and it still runs right on time."

"He means Amy," Raj explained. "Sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants."

"Or, you know, her v-jay-jay."

"I have no idea what that is, but from your tone I don't think you should be talking about my wife that way," Sheldon shot at him and Howard put his hands up in defense. Turning back to Leonard, because he seemed to be the only taking his plight seriously, he said, "But I created an algorithm designed to produce dates that are roughly equidistant but simulate random events. So it's not as precise as you're implying. It's meant to appear spontaneous to her. And it's worked perfectly well for months now."

"So she never gets to initiate it?" Leonard asked.

Sheldon nodded. "That was our agreement. I could make the schedule but I don't tell her about it." He paused, thinking of the way she'd kissed him this morning, how she'd led his hand to her bare hip.

"That's your problem," Howard chimed in. "Weird things turn women on, like Hallmark Christmas movies. You've got to let them decide when come on to you, too. Believe me, it's better that way. Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!"

"How?" Sheldon asked.

"How what?" Raj asked in return. "She starts kissing you and one thing leads to another."

Sheldon swallowed. Other than a few awkward, vague conversations with Leonard, he'd never discussed his sexuality with his friends. He still remembered their "no deal" comment in the hallway years ago. Obviously, events had proven to them that that wasn't entirely accurate. But he also knew Amy had told her girlfriends about their once-yearly coitus prior to their marriage. Had she said anything since? He'd given her the correct terms to use, once, and thought she'd run to tell them. But she hadn't seemed interested in sharing the news.

"I - I need more time than that." He saw all three of their eyebrows go up and he added in a rush, "Not like that! Not physically. My genitals are fully functioning. I just meant, I need time to think about it first."

"Like when you first saw the _Into The Spider-Verse_ trailer and you said you needed time to process Spider-Ham before you decided if you wanted to see it?" Howard asked.

"Actually . . . that's fair."

"Let me put this in your terms." Leonard leaned forward in the white chair. "Think about it like super asymmetry."

Sheldon turned his head sharply toward his friend. Did he realize what Sheldon had been thinking about on their wedding day, contemplating all the ways Amy balanced his own imperfections, not just in daily life but also sexually. "Super asymmetry?"

"Yeah. You had this theory and it was good - even really good - but it needed tested."

With a loud groan, Sheldon said, "Oh, don't bring Pembeton and Campbell into this. The order of places I don't want them: one, the Nobel stage, and, two, my bedroom."

"I'm not talking about them. Remember, I found that old Russian paper and we thought it destroyed your theory, that you were wrong? But you didn't give up, you found a new way to make it work and it's actually better now."

"If you love her - and we know you do - you'll keeping trying to find a way," Raj added.

Amy had said something similar.

Silence settled over their little gathering. Sheldon kept waiting for a barb from Howard but none came. When he turned to look at him, his astronaut friend nodded at him. A little dampness rose in his chest for these three and how seriously they were taking him. "She said - she said she wants to see the stars," he said softly.

"Oh, if that's your problem, I have some instructional videos I can send you. She'll be seeing stars, all right." Just like that, Howard was back.

"No," Sheldon said, "trust me, that's not a problem."

"Well, before you ask, yes, I can get you into the planetarium after hours and, yes, those chairs are perfect for being ridden like a space cowboy," Raj volunteered.

"Remind me to stand the next time I go to one of your shows," Leonard mumbled.

"Never mind." Sheldon shook his head. At first, he had felt that Amy's metaphor was clunky and laborious, no doubt a result of her having to develop one on such short notice. Why did she need two items to represent the same thing? But, as the weeks had gone by, Sheldon had grown not only to understand and appreciate it, but also to like it. It began to make sense to him. There was the moon, like Pon farr, full and bright and unavoidable, but there were also the stars, a carpet of twinkling love and desire that shifted and winked in and out of view. The moon was easy to see; the stars . . . they were more delicate and needed more care.

"So, what you need is a bat signal," Raj suggested.

"A bat signal?"

"Yeah, you know, she flashes it so you know she wants you. But you can respond once you've, um, had time to prepare the batmobile."

"Oh, she flashes you? I need one of those for Bernie, too," Howard said.

"Hmmmmm, maybe." Sheldon pursed his lips. "I suppose she could just turn it off when the mood passes. After all, surely the Gotham Police Department caught a few criminals without Batman's intervention."

"Sure," Leonard said.

"But wait," Sheldon shifted in his seat, "that implies I have to, um, come to her aid every time. And I'm - I'm not sure if I can do that. Again, not physically," he added quickly.

"How do you know Batman came every time they put up the signal?" Raj asked.

"Raj is right," Leonard added. "The comics are only about the times he _did_ answer. Because not answering doesn't make an exciting story."

Sheldon nodded. It might work. But would not answering Amy's call make for a less dynamic marriage, too?

* * *

"Hey!" Amy called from her perch at the island, her laptop open in front of her.

"Hello."

She turned toward him. "How was your emergency trip to the train store?"

"I - I didn't go to the train store. I went to two different toy stores," Sheldon explained.

"And that's different how . . ." Amy trailed. But she smiled at him nonetheless. "But you found what you were looking for?"

"I believe so." Sheldon sat down on the loveseat and patted the cushion next to him. "Will you come here for a moment? I bought you something."

"At the toy store?" Amy raised her eyebrows but she got down and came to join him anyway.

Sheldon pulled the box out of the brown paper shopping bag and handed it to her. Amy inspected the illustrations with a serious face, no doubt because the box wasn't very eye-catching. "It's a lamp? Do we need a lamp?"

"It's a special lamp."

"I see that. 'Sleep under the stars! Projects ten different scientifically accurate celestial diagrams,'" she read before looking up at him.

"There were more attractive lamps - I mean the casing - but the designs weren't scientifically accurate. One looked like the inside of Lucky Charms box." He shook his head in disgust. "Rainbows and unicorns in the night sky? Phllllppptttt."

"Ugh. We wouldn't want that." Her nose wrinkled slightly and Sheldon smiled. Amy continued, "Thank you. I'm sure it will be very pretty once it's on. Let's try it, shall we?"

Sheldon watched her as she unpacked it and sat it on the coffee table, disappointed that she hadn't realized what it meant yet. He let her turn off the overhead lights and even helped her by crawling on the floor to plug it in.

"Ready?" she asked, settling next to him again.

"Amy, wait." She looked at him with a startled expression. "Um, it's not just a lamp. It's not meant to be pretty. Even when it's on."

"What do you mean?"

"I, um, I want to try this . . . giving you the stars. You can turn it on when you're feeling amorous and leave it on as long as you do. You can turn it off whenever the mood passes. You don't have to say anything. But I'll see it and I'll know. And I'll, um, I think it might give me -"

"Time to want to make love?" Amy asked, her voice quiet.

"You know that I always _want_ to make you happy, don't you?" Sheldon reached for her hand. "It's just that other parts of my brain, they need a little . . . signal."

"I know." She looked down and the bottom fell out of Sheldon's stomach. "We'd still have the schedule?"

"I thought so, because you said you like it. And I - I find it useful." There was a lengthy pause in which Amy never replied. "Was I wrong? I thought - I thought it might help. I didn't mean to make you upset. You know it's not you, you're beautiful and intelligent and I love you, it's just -"

"Shh, Sheldon." When she reached up to touch his lips, he saw the warmth in her eyes. "It's perfect."

"It is?"

She nodded and then reached over and flipped the switch at the base of the globe. Even in the Sunday afternoon daylight, the bulb was strong enough that their ceiling was punctuated with thousands of tiny, faint dots, glittering and twinkling, just as he hoped.

"Oh, look, there's Ursa Major," Sheldon said, leaning his head back. "And - mmmphh."

Amy's lips had landed on his, and then she pulled away with a smile. "I know it's too soon. I'm just so - so happy. But, maybe later?"

"Twice in forty-eight hours? We haven't done that since our honeymoon," he pointed out.

"You're right." Amy shook her head. "But I'll be sure to try it next time I'm feeling amorous, as you said. But I'll give it a few weeks, of course." Her arm stretched out toward the switch again.

But Sheldon swallowed and quickly stretched his longer arm to beat her to it, pressing the button to change the pattern on their ceiling instead of turning it off. "Actually, you're in luck. Perhaps it was inevitable given what I was shopping for, but I've - I've been thinking about it for a few hours now."

Her response was instantaneous, an explosion of joy and hands and lips, and Sheldon thought that, no matter how the lamp functioned for them in the future, that moment was worth it. "Shall we adjourn?" he hushed into her ear.

"Let's do it here."

"On the sofa?"

"Under the stars."

THE END

* * *

_**Thank you for taking this little journey further into Sheldon's sexuality with me. Thank you so much for your support and kind reviews.** _

_**As always, my stories wouldn't be possible - not in the form you read - without the tireless work and support of my dear friend and Beta, Melissa. She, too, is wise and smells like books.** _


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